Chapter 9 #2
‘You’re telling me,’ I admit, and the whole story is nearly on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be confessed.
‘I definitely wasn’t trying to get pregnant.
Well, I mean, I was’ – Zaid’s head snaps in my direction, prompting me to quickly go on – ‘but not with you! Not like this. Come on, we used condoms, and I didn’t think—’ I cut short, swallowing hard.
‘I didn’t think it would happen like this. ’
He stares at me, eyes pinched in confusion. ‘You’ve been trying to have a baby?’
I nod, but this is a conversation that could quickly go to hell in a handbasket if I don’t make it very clear that it was never my intention for him to knock me up.
‘I started fertility treatments last year,’ I explain. ‘I’ve always wanted kids, so I decided I should stop waiting until I found a partner and do it by myself. But the plan was to get pregnant using an anonymous donor, not—’
‘The man who ruined your life,’ he finishes for me.
I smile weakly. ‘I always intended to do this by myself, so please don’t feel obligated to have anything to do with me or the baby, but you have the right to know. And I’m sure you’ll want a paternity test for confirmation,’ I hurriedly tack on.
Again, I’m surprised when he straightens up, lips turning down at the corners. ‘Only if that’s something you want. I’m not asking you for one.’
I try to ignore the way his arm brushes mine, focusing on the relief flooding my chest instead of how much I like the feel of him near me. ‘So you just . . . believe me when I say the baby’s yours?’
Zaid huffs a humorless laugh, his dark eyes sympathetic as he stares down at me. ‘Ava, I can’t imagine a world where you would want me to be the father of your child. What reason would you have to lie to me?’
‘Don’t sell yourself short. Anyone would be lucky to have your genes for their kid,’ I joke, but I quickly sober because, ultimately, he’s right. He wouldn’t have been my first, tenth, or even hundredth choice to be my child’s biological father. ‘But you’re right. This definitely wasn’t the plan.’
We both sit with that for a moment, gazing out at the room and letting it sink in. No, it wasn’t the plan, and no, I don’t have a single clue how things are going to work, but this is the reality we’re facing.
‘Does your family know you’re pregnant?’ he asks after a few beats, glancing over at me again.
I shake my head. ‘I wanted to tell you first.’
He’s immediately back to frowning. ‘So you’ve been going through this by yourself?’
‘I’ve told a few friends.’ Well, I’ve told Edith, who told Stella. I don’t have many other friends these days after distancing myself from motorsport. ‘I’m not completely on my own.’
His displeasure lightens some as he nods, like he’s comforted by that idea but still not happy about it. As he broods – and looks entirely too good doing it, the beautiful bastard – I keep going.
‘You don’t have to decide right now if you want to be involved,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing I really need from you and there’s still a while to go before the baby’s born, and—’
‘No.’ He interrupts so firmly that I press myself farther into the sofa cushions, like the word was a shove. His eyes widen when he realizes how it sounded, hand reflexively darting over to squeeze my knee. ‘No, as in I don’t need time to think about it. I’m in. Right now.’
I stare down at his hand on me, seeing but not feeling it through the fog of shock.
When I imagined all the ways this conversation could go, I barely considered the option of him immediately wanting to play a role in our kid’s life.
At best, I thought he might tell me he wanted to be involved after the baby was born, but right now?
‘Zaid, I’m giving you an out here,’ I gently urge, a nagging part of me believing he’s just saying what he thinks I want to hear.
‘Who said I wanted one?’ he counters.
‘Okay, sure, but at least take some time to process this. It’s . . . big. Life-changing.’ Not something I want you to take back.
His eyes find mine, and there’s a spark in them that slowly starts to melt the iceberg of doubt within me. ‘I know that.’ He pauses, searching my face, head tilting a fraction in question as he slowly pulls his hand from my knee and back into his own lap. ‘Do you – do you not want me involved?’
‘No!’ It’s my turn to nearly shout the word, though to Zaid’s credit he doesn’t wince. ‘I mean, if you want to be, I’m fine with that. It’s just . . . it’s going to be a little more complicated.’
That’s the understatement of the century, but how else can I phrase it? Because Oh, yeah, it’s definitely gonna be a shit show doesn’t seem like the best thing to say.
‘Then we’ll figure it out,’ he says, and his confidence brings my anxiety down a notch. ‘Together.’
Together. This is now a joint venture, an exploration in co-parenting.
It isn’t anywhere near a new concept, and I’ve known plenty of people who’ve done it successfully.
But co-parenting with Zaid Yousef, famous racing driver who’s away from home nearly nine months of the year and has the world’s attention beaming down on him? That’s a little different.
There’s no guarantee that Zaid will be around much, especially if he stays in the sport for a few more years – which, judging from what has been announced about his contract, he’s locked in for at least two more. What’s that going to look like for me and the baby?
Then again, what does it matter? I’ve been prepared to be a single parent since day one, and if I’m the only one around the majority of the time, I can’t be too mad about it.
I try to balance out the fear of the unknown by imagining what the good bits of this arrangement could look like – the two of us dressing our future kid in cheesy little checkered onesies, Zaid teaching them how to drive a kart, me with a built-in grand prix–watching buddy – but the churning nausea this pregnancy has brought about picks the perfect moment to hit me.
I try to swallow it back, but it sticks in the back of my throat, leaving my stomach threateningly unsettled.
‘Are you okay?’
I hold up a hand at Zaid’s concerned question, needing a second to push past it before I can speak. ‘It’s just morning sickness,’ I answer when the nausea ebbs again, but his renewed concern has me rushing to add, ‘but it’s getting better. It’s not as bad as it was toward the beginning.’
I still can’t believe I didn’t realize I was pregnant sooner, but it was as if the second I did, every first trimester symptom hit me like a truck.
If it weren’t for my doctor reassuring me that it was all normal and that – according to my twelve-week ultrasound – the fetus was growing exactly as it should, I might have thought this baby was trying to suck the life out of me.
Some days I still can’t quite convince myself that they’re not.
Even with all the less-than-stellar physical aspects, I’m excited.
Still in shock too since I’d nearly convinced myself this might never happen, but my doctor made it clear that sometimes all it comes down to is the right timing.
I’d thought, with my tracking and planning, I would know when that time was, but apparently my body had other ideas.
Too bad it couldn’t have given me a little more of a heads-up that it was ready before I slept with a Formula 1 driver using expired condoms.
Zaid’s gaze is heavy on me. ‘I wish I could have been there to help you through the worst of it,’ he says softly.
I’m struck by his sincerity, like he really does regret not being there for me, and it drops a small boulder of guilt on my chest, even if he didn’t mean it to. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out how to tell you sooner.’
And now I’m also sorry he couldn’t be there for that first ultrasound, to see that little jumping bean and hear their speeding heartbeat.
I went by myself, just like I’d always expected to, but when I wasn’t crying in wonder at the tiny blob on the screen, I was fantasizing about what it might be like to have a partner with me to share in the moment – even what it might be like to share it with Zaid.
The idea felt too dangerous to dwell on at the time, so I pushed it to the far reaches of my mind. Now it’s my reality.
‘Hey,’ he urges, and his hand is back on my knee, squeezing gently, grounding me. ‘What did I say about apologizing?’
A flush of heat runs through me at the reminder of our night together, and this time I feel his touch all too well.
‘I don’t blame you for not telling me earlier,’ he goes on before I can even struggle to start forming words.
‘All I ask is that you don’t hide anything else from me.
’ He pauses for a moment, letting his request sink in.
‘I want to know how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, what you want from me, what you need.
You can tell me in your own time, but just . . . tell me. Okay?’
When I don’t immediately answer, he dips his head so we’re eye level, his stare imploring, thumb brushing back and forth over my jeans. ‘Ava?’
‘Okay,’ I choke out, the heat replaced with a different warmth now, the kind that comes from being completely and utterly overwhelmed. ‘But you have to do the same for me.’
His mouth lifts in the corners, a dry smile. ‘I’m not the one who’s pregnant.’
‘No,’ I concede, and it’s my turn to search the planes of his face. ‘But you’re fighting battles too.’
I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing when his lips settle into a firm line. He doesn’t call me out on it though, which is answer enough.
‘I don’t want this to be a distraction for your season,’ I go on. ‘So if—’
‘It isn’t,’ he interrupts. ‘Honestly, I think I needed a wake-up call.’
‘Are you sure? Because if this is too much, we can figure something out until the season’s over. I’ll be okay on my own if you need to focus on racing.’
Again, Zaid shakes his head. He swallows hard, and then his eyes lock on mine. ‘This isn’t a distraction, Ava,’ he says. ‘You just gave me something to live for.’